Till Death
by Flora Grey
Summary: Erik lies on his death bed, clinging to the hope that Christine will fulfill a promise to return for a last goodbye before her wedding. When Raoul refuses to honor his word, Christine goes against his wishes and confirms all of his worst fears. Kay-based.
1. Chapter 1: A New Invitation

**ABOUT THE STORY **- This is a little something filling in some "missing" chapters from the end of **Susan Kay's _Phantom_**. It goes without saying that this contains some **MAJOR SPOILERS**. If you haven't read _Phantom_, then get on it! If, like me, once you're done you find yourself wanting to have more to read regarding Erik and Christine's final time together, you know where to come. I completely understand the importance of less being more, and leaving things up to the imagination of the reader and all that, but...what can I say? I'm a glutton for this story, and I wanted to see it all written out, even if it meant I had to do the writing myself. Really, I'm writing this for me (this is my first fic!), and if there's one or two other people out there who would enjoy it as well, I'm happy to share.

_Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters. They belong to Gaston Leroux by way of Susan Kay. The basic idea? Also not mine. Like I said, I'm fleshing out what happened "off screen", so to speak, and so for that, credit goes to Susan Kay._

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_**Christine 1881**_

The scraps of paper swirled and danced in the draft created by the slamming of the door. They hung in the air for a moment, and then fell lifeless back onto the tiled grate of the fireplace. It wasn't until I became lightheaded that I realized I'd been holding my breath, not daring to move even an inch as I listened to Raoul's furious steps retreat down the hall. I took a long, shuddering breath, but remained otherwise still and silent as I strained my ears to hear orders barked to the carriage driver, followed by the sharp snap of the carriage door. The ticking of the clock on the mantle echoed around the room, and with each tick, my wretchedness increased. How much longer would he wait for me? Did he sit, imagining me rushing out to him, arms outstretched, admitting my foolishness and begging to be forgiven? That he waited, clinging to the hope that our love and commitment would overcome a rash, foolish promise shamed me. It shamed me, but it did not cause me to stir from my seat.

Mercifully, the carriage began to lurch forward with a long, low creak which sounded to my ears like a groan. The wheels clacked against the cobblestones, grew quieter and then were gone.

With a sigh born of equal parts anxiety and relief, I arose and strode across the room to my writing desk. I'd promised Erik that I would return to him with a wedding invitation, and nothing would stop me from fulfilling that promise. Not even a cancelled wedding.

Oh, Raoul! You believe me to be held to Erik by fear, by pity, when in actuality it is by a connection which I doubt you would comprehend, had I words to explain it. Perhaps you wouldn't want to. Yet, increasingly there have been moments where a darkness comes into your clear eyes, and I feel you must be close to guessing at it. It would be better that you didn't. My dearest wish is that you'd stay always that simple, uncomplicated man that I fell so effortlessly in love with. Part of me mourns for that unburdened future we might have shared, but there is no choice for me. I have come to realize in the past few weeks that there is but one path before me, and I must take it, though when I reach the end I may never earn your forgiveness.

I drew a fresh gilt-edged card from the desk drawer, once again took up my pen, and scratched out a new invitation. The ink not yet dry, I gathered it up along with the two keys I'd set out on the table and hurried from the room. A thought detained me, one hand on the door frame, and I returned to stand before the fireplace. Reaching up to remove a burning candle from beside the clock on the mantle, I tipped it down to touch an edge of the invitation that Raoul had shredded in frustration. The flame licked at the paper for a moment before it caught, curling and blackening the pieces until all that remained were ashes.

It was time to start headlong down the path which lay before me, which could only lead to the house beside the underground lake, and to my Angel, who waited for me within it.


	2. Chapter 2: A Couple of Proper Gentlemen

_**Erik**_

The ringing of the electric bell jolted me out of a deep, dreamless sleep. Once again I was surprised to find that I was still alive. I was unable to tell if that revelation was a relief or a disappointment. My heart beat like a watch with a gear stuck, yet there was a stubborn insistence to those beats. I often wished for that watch to wind down, to let me slip away in my sleep and never have to know for certain that I was correct in my wish for a hasty death. But against better judgment, little fingers of hope kept the watch wound and ticking away until the time when I would have no choice but to confront the truth.

I've read enough fairytales to know that once the dashing hero has rescued the damsel in distress and they've ridden off into the sunset, he never brings her back to the monster's lair for one last goodbye, even if she'd wished it. Even if she'd promised.

Shortly after the hero had escaped with his lady, I'd suffered another attack of the crushing pain in my chest so crippling that it made no question of my imminent death. Ever since, I'd lain in the bed where I'd come into this world…and now planned to leave it. Rather conveniently, though I'd torn my home to pieces in self-indulgent fits of grief and despair, I couldn't bear to touch this room, where Christine's presence still lingered in the air like a ghost. The feeling comforted me as much as it made my heart ache. So many nights, as I buried myself in a book to pass the hours until my death, I could swear I felt her beside me. My instinctive, desperate reaching embarrassed and distressed me, and I would inevitably take it out on the book, shredding and twisting the paper between my fingers until I was calm again. I needed to learn that there was nothing beyond the candlelight but darkness – I was beginning to run out of books!

I pulled myself up into a sitting position just as the door clicked open. I may have been on my death bed, but I did not intend to look the part. Nor would I let myself become a complete invalid, needing assistance for the most basic of human needs. Though I was certainly very ill, I was able to shore up sufficient strength to be able to stand and move about for short periods of time, and was therefore able to avoid the humiliation of my old friend giving me sponge baths, or spoon-feeding me. There was nothing else left for me but my pride and dignity, and I would keep those, even if it killed me.

Nadir entered the room uninvited and collapsed into the chair by my bedside, eyeing me sideways in a way which he must have thought was inconspicuous.

"Well, Daroga? How do you find me today?" I asked. "I am still alive – at least, I think I am. My appearance would suggest otherwise."

"Ah, Erik," he sighed. "Must death always be such a source of amusement to you?"

"Yes," I said, "I suppose it must. Being born a corpse must surely be one of God's jokes. I don't see what option I have but to join in the laughter. But my dying is old news. Come, let's have the newspaper, and see what goes on in the land of the living."

With a chuckle and a weary shake of his head, Nadir pulled a folded newspaper from the pocket of his overcoat and handed it to me, each word and each motion part of a routine which we'd rehearsed for weeks now.

"And if you'd be so kind, perhaps you could bring us some of that truly dreadful tea you make, and we could drink our tea and discuss current events like a couple of proper gentlemen."

Nadir said nothing, only fixed me with a mildly scornful look and gave a curt nod, but when he turned to leave the room there was a faint smirk playing about his lips.

Left alone, my trembling hands could scarcely grip the pages to turn them. Finally arriving at the announcements, I began to feel quite dizzy and lightheaded, and my eyes slid down the page hardly seeing what was in front of them. It wasn't until I'd read through every announcement twice, then checked the reverse side to make sure that nothing had snuck off around the back to hide that I let out the breath I'd been holding in so painfully. Another day had come, and there was no proof that my greatest fear had come to pass. To see that wedding announcement would be to see an announcement of my death.

Within moments Nadir sidled into the room, balancing saucers topped with rattling teacups in each hand.

"Well?" he said, "Anything interesting in the news today?" If he'd read through the paper himself and already knew the answer, I never guessed.

"No. Nothing at all, thank God. I'm altogether too old and infirm for interesting news, wouldn't you say? But again, I'm not likely to find much interesting in that sorry excuse for journalism, am I? A whole page dedicated to the birth of some government official's child? Why it should be considered news that some poor chap has had the bad luck to be born, I will never know. Really, I don't know why you bother to read the paper anymore. You surely needn't trouble yourself to bring it here to me! I could hear more interesting news by listening to the rats in the walls."

"I quite agree," he said, as a smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. "I certainly won't bother in the future."

We drank our tea in silence. Once or twice he opened his mouth and seemed about to speak, but placed the teacup to his lips to drink instead. Before long, the effort required to sit up and to speak and to hold the teacup began to take its toll on me, and I began to doze against the headboard.

The ringing of the bell startled me so badly that I sloshed tea all over the bedclothes.


	3. Chapter 3: Highly Improper

Wow! I really didn't expect so many people to read this! Thank you for the encouraging reviews! It's hard to create some sort of suspense when we all know where this is going, but I try to look at it from within the character's minds- they don't know yet! So excuse me if it seems needlessly angsty, but I love all the psychological drama! Tell me what you think.

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_**Christine**_

Within the hour I was standing at the edge of the underground lake, straining my eyes in the misty darkness for any sign of movement. I had no doubt that the alarm must have alerted Erik to my presence, but after what felt like an eternity I found myself still alone. Certainly he should have been here by now! What would keep him?

Tears pricked my eyes. I could feel a bubble of fear rise up in my throat and threaten to become a cry. Worry had been churning and festering away in the back of my mind these past few weeks, but in my single-minded determination to return to the little house beside the lake, I'd managed to bottle it up. Now, standing alone on the shore, I found myself quite unprepared to face the possibility that he might not be there to return to. The worry began to churn away again in its bottle, and the pressure began to increase until it was poised to become a violent eruption.

But somehow, cutting through the fog that was overtaking my mind there was a piercing voice of reason, warning me that becoming hysterical would not help to reunite us. Miraculously, I listened. I held in a deep breath, let it out slowly, and tried to convince myself that I hadn't been waiting as long as I'd felt. I needed a distraction. Somewhere behind me water trickled onto the stone ground in steady drips, like the ticking of a clock. As I counted along, there came a sound in the distance – a gentle splashing keeping time with the drips. A moment later, a hazy light appeared, just a pinprick along the horizon of the lake, but growing brighter as it bobbed toward me.

My heart hammered in my chest as I rushed to the very edge of the lake, the water lapping at the toes of my boots. I peered into the shadows, and my nervous anticipation transformed into confusion as the figure in the boat became clear to me. Erik's silhouette was much taller, the shoulders more broad. Alarmed, I had turned to flee when the figure called out to me.

"Mademoiselle Daae? Please…do not run! It is I…Erik's old friend…from Persia!" he shouted, panting for breath. "Perhaps you remember me?" The boat was now no more than two yards from the shore.

I did indeed remember him – how could I forget his face in the torture chamber? – but my uneasiness trumped simple politeness, and my only response was to blurt out, frantic and demanding – "Where is he?"

The pause which followed while the Persian considered his reply was enough to start my head spinning, and my knees gave way. Having anchored the boat at the shore, he leapt out and bounded to my side with an agility I had not expected from him. He caught me about the shoulders and held me steady until I could stand on my feet without swaying, then dropped to his knees before me. He gathered my hands in his and pressed them to his forehead.

"Oh, praise Allah! You _have_ returned, after all! I confess that I never truly believed that it would come to pass." He spoke in a breathless rush, more to himself than to me.

"Please, you have not answered me," I said, my voice tight. "Where is Erik? Why does he not come? Does he…does he still live?"

The Persian rose to his feet, still clutching my hands between his, his face serious. "Yes, Mademoiselle, he lives. But, I must tell you, he is very ill. Indeed, I…believe he clings to life only for the hope that he may see you again."

The dam within me burst, sending a burning cascade of tears down my cheeks. I hung my head, glad for the darkness that helped to conceal them. Without another word, the Persian took me by the elbow and escorted me to the little boat. As he helped me step in, he paused, with a thoughtful tilt of his head. "Is Monsieur de Chagny not –"

"I've come alone," I said, cutting him off and ending the conversation. In my pocket, the invitation felt as heavy as if it were made of stone.

...

The Persian paused again when he placed a hand on the front door to Erik's house. The journey across the still, glassy water of the lake had been silent as I turned over my planned speech again and again in my mind. Now he turned to me, weighing each word before he spoke it. "When…when Erik felt certain that you would not… That it would not be possible for you to return…" He trailed off, unable to find the right way to phrase his thoughts. Instead, with a weary sigh he opened the door to the scene of destruction that lay beyond.

I choked back a sob as I took in the state of the drawing room, a place where I'd once spent the many evenings that, in retrospect, were some of my most cherished. Splintered furniture was piled in heaps, and the once fine Persian rug covering the floor was littered with smashed and shattered glass and porcelain, the original objects now unrecognizable. Every sofa or chair had been ripped to shreds, overturned, and snowy drifts of shredded paper were gathered in small piles around them. With horror I perceived that some scraps of paper bore musical notes written in Erik's distinctive hand – not his _Don Juan Triumphant_! My cheeks burned with shame to see the effect of his anguish. A dark shape at the edge of my vision caught my attention, and I raised my eyes to find Erik standing motionless and silent beside the mantle of the fireplace, his masked face turned away, gazing into the fire.

"Please, Mademoiselle. Do come in," he said, turning and making a small, stiff little bow. "I would offer you a seat, but I've…ah…redone the room since you visited last, and I decided the room worked better without those bulky old things." There was something in his silhouette that impressed upon me just how frail he had become, but the set of his shoulders and straightness of his spine suggested nothing but pride and assurance. "And you, Daroga, please be so kind as to close the door," he continued. "We're getting quite a draft in here. We don't want the young lady sick on her wedding day. Perhaps we should add more fuel to the fire…warm the place up a bit? There's plenty of wood, you see. You need not be picky, that leg off that old table will do. See? It comes away quite easily."

The Persian bent to toss the leg onto the fire, turned, and made to move toward the door. Erik made a small gesture with his hand and shook his head almost imperceptibly. The Persian nodded in return, and went to stand by an upended desk, his eyes on the floor.

The room was silent but for the popping and crackling of the fire. A creeping uncertainty encroached upon me, and I found that my carefully rehearsed words would not come. Without giving myself time to think, I reached into my pocket to retrieve the invitation I'd come to deliver. Holding it in trembling hands, I stepped toward Erik, glancing up at him through my lashes.

He rounded on me, so that we were at last face to face, looking down on me from his imposing height. "Ah! You've brought me an invitation for my collection," he said, his words clipped and precise. "Pity, though, I don't think my collection quite made it through the redecorating process… But pay it no mind, I'm glad to have it, nevertheless." He slid one long, gloved finger under the seal and stopped, his eyes narrowing. "But where is the happy husband to be? Waiting outside for you, I presume? Highly improper of him to allow his fiancée to visit alone with two men, without him here to chaperone... I should have hoped that boy would take more care with you, my dear," he sighed, "but I suppose it is not for me to say."

I opened my mouth several times to speak, but could find no way to begin. Erik continued to stare at me with narrowed eyes until the Persian spoke from behind me. "Mademoiselle Daae has come alone, Erik," he said simply.

"I see," said Erik, clucking his tongue. "Very irresponsible, indeed." He gave his head a weary shake and took up the invitation again. He slid the card from the envelope and raised it to his eyes. I could hear the dull pounding of blood in my ears as I held my breath, every muscle in my body taut with queasy anticipation.

After several long minutes, Erik lowered the card and looked at me with pained, searching eyes. "Nadir," he said in little more than a whisper. "Would you be so good as to excuse us for just a few moments? But do not go too far, if you don't mind. No… Just a few moments…"

With a hurried bow, the Persian excused himself from the room, and Erik and I remained alone together, our gazes locked. Erik took a shaky breath. "Christine…I… What is the meaning of this?" he asked, waving the little card. "Is this a joke? Why have you written my name in place of Monsieur de Chagny's? Do you think this is what I'd rather see? So I wouldn't have to face the truth?" His voice was thick with distress and suppressed pain. "I've made my peace with it, don't you see," he said, sweeping a hand to encompass the damage surrounding us. "I don't need to you to pretend."

Flinging myself forward I grasped his hand and pressed it against my burning cheek. "Erik...I'm not pretending."


	4. Chapter 4: Infinite Wisdom

Thanks, everyone, for all the encouragement! I didn't think I'd get so excited over reviews, but seriously, they make my day!

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_**Christine**_

Silence hung in the air between us for several beats as I searched his eyes for the impact of my words. I found only disbelief and turmoil. Finally, he sucked in a sharp breath and shook his head as if to clear it. I still held his hand; the soft leather of his glove felt cool against my heated cheek, but I could feel that within it his hand had become rigid. As I watched, a dispassionate, detached look came over his eyes, and he withdrew his hand from me, turning away. He drew himself up in a dignified manner and stared down at the fire. The temperature in the room seemed to drop. Despite the surreptitious way he supported himself against the mantle, each line of his body radiated a chilling imperiousness, and I drew my arms around myself reflexively.

"Yes," he said, clearing his throat. "I'm very glad to have the invitation for my collection. Thank you very much, indeed. And now, I shan't keep you any longer. I daresay Monsieur le Vicomte will begin to think the worst…" – he made an impatient gesture – "Now run along…I'm afraid I'm terribly busy!" He spoke with an infuriating finality.

His reaction had not been one I'd expected…though I suppose I should have learned by then never to attempt to anticipate Erik's reactions! Nevertheless, I was hurt and more than a little confused.

"Erik…" I began. "Surely you don't mean to turn me away...?"

"That is _exactly_ what I mean to do," he replied, his voice tight. "It is exactly what I _did_ do! Do you have any idea of what it cost me to send you away with that boy?" His voice had begun to elevate dangerously. "Do you?" He spun on me. "Oh, don't cry, my dear! It's not your fault. I begged you to return! I had to see you, just once more…I have quite a knack for torture, you see? A gift!" He laughed once – a delirious, gasping sound – and fell back against the mantle. His voice softened, becoming raw and plaintive. "But Christine…even in my best of dreams, I dreamt only that I might lay my eyes on you one last time… Perhaps kiss you, once more, just on your forehead… And above all – above all! – I dreamt that you would leave as quickly as you could, grateful to return to that boy who loves you…so that I might die in peace!" He pressed his trembling hands against his masked face, covering his eyes. "But instead you come to me, alone and pleading! Forcing me to tear out my soul all over again! Christine, I gave you to him so that you might have the life you deserve! You know not what you're asking, my child. I won't let you throw your future away on account of some misguided pity!"

As his final words crashed upon my ears, my tears ceased. All of the anger and resentment that I'd been holding within me, unaware, began to boil and bubble to the surface. My hands balled up into fists against my thighs. "'I _gave_ you'? … 'You _know not_'? ... 'My _child_'? … 'I won't _let_ you?'…" I had been advancing on him steadily until I was within arm's reach. "Has it never occurred to you, Erik, that I might have something to say in the matter? That I am not your property, to bestow upon others as you see fit? Am I too much of a child to make my own decisions? Are you, in your infinite wisdom, the only one to know what's best for me?" My voice had become shrill and harsh, hardly recognizable even to my own ears. "You have told me a great many fantastical things in our time together, Erik, but nothing more so than you claiming to know my own mind better than I!" With a great sob, I began to pummel him with my fists as he looked down in shock. I pulled myself away in breathless disbelief, my eyes wide, one hand to my mouth.

"Erik... Oh, God! I apologize. I never meant to…" I took a tremulous breath and forced myself to meet his bewildered eyes. "I understood that you did what you thought was best for me, but it was unfair of you to make my choice for me." He opened his mouth in protest, but I raised a hand to silence him. "Raoul would not allow me to come here today. He made me choose between the two of you, and I have chosen you, Erik. Now, you can either tell me that you don't want me, and I will leave, or you can ask me to stay, and I shall. But I will not have you – or Raoul – order me to do anything again!"

Erik slouched against the fireplace, his shoulders sagging in defeat. "Oh, Christine... Of course I don't want you to go. But I only have such a short time left to live … perhaps shorter than you realize. It would be so selfish of me… I couldn't bear to think of you alone for the rest of your life."

I closed the gap between us and placed my hand upon his sleeve. "And I couldn't bear to think of you alone for the rest of yours." He bit back a sharp sob, and I buried my face in his shirt as he pulled me against him. We clutched at each other as though we were drowning. With my head against his chest, I could hear the irregular beat of his heart, hear his labored breathing. There was no time to waste.

With an exhausted sigh, I knelt down on the ground before him, pulling his hands along with me. He came down, unresisting, clearly relieved to be through with the effort of standing. I leaned in very close to him, and placed a hand on either side of his mask, inching it up, just enough so that I could place my lips against his. The kiss lasted but a moment, but it conveyed what hours of words could not. I leaned back, letting the mask fall back into place, and took up his hands, pressing them between my own. His mismatched eyes were glazed with tears.

"Marry me?" I asked.


	5. Chapter 5: A Church, A Cellar

_**Erik**_

I was dead. I had to be... It seemed the most obvious way to account for my current situation. However…if I truly was dead, this wasn't the scenario I would have supposed I'd find myself in. I wasn't convinced of the presence of an afterlife, but if there was one, there was no heaven I'd heard of that would have me. I'd seen to that with a lifetime of effortless sin. I'd lost track of all of the Commandments I'd broken, but surely it was at least half.

Very well, if heaven must be ruled out, then I had to be dreaming. I did recall drowsing upon the bed…I must be sleeping still, and would soon awake to find myself alone. Oh, of course! Only my unconscious mind would devise such exquisite torture!

But yet, the painful thumping in my chest felt all too real. And so had the kiss which still burned upon my lips…the delicate floral scent of her perfume…the warmth of her small hands enveloping mine.

It was all real. I was not dead and I was not dreaming.

Realization was dawning upon me. Her words and her actions had shaken me to the core. Where once I had been sure I had destroyed her, I now realized that she had become stronger than I'd ever thought her capable. She had every right to be angry with me. I had been doing what I thought was right by handing her over to the boy, but I had been so immersed in my own self-sacrifice that I had quite forgotten that the decision was not entirely mine to make. All the same, I was still certain that the decision had been right.

"Erik?" Christine's voice brought me out of my deep contemplation. "You have not answered." There was a tremulous note of doubt in her voice that let loose a raging flood of conflicting emotions.

Of course I wanted to take her at once into my arms and promise her anything she could think to ask! But I bit my tongue against such wanton self-indulgence. Though there was nothing in the world I wanted so much as to marry her, my mind responded by raising hundreds upon hundreds of objections. And even if I could find an answer to each one, I could not overcome the feeling that this was beyond what I deserved. I'd never thought I'd live to experience the simple joy of a kiss, let alone die with a wife by my side.

I knew it was terribly selfish of me to accept. But my resolve was waning.

I decided to make one final appeal to her practicality. "My dear, I'm afraid it's quite impossible," I said, my voice hoarse. I found myself unable to meet her eyes. "I am, you understand, dreadfully ill…I could never make it to a church. You would find yourself a widow before you were ever a wife."

She considered me for a moment, her expression grave, and I studied her face in the firelight. She looked even more pale and fragile than usual, and utterly exhausted. Yet she radiated peace and strength, and lit by the golden light of the fire, she looked just like an angel from heaven. She stood up and looked down at me with a curious look in her deeply shadowed eyes that looked both defiant and entreating at the same time. "A church, a cellar... It is all the same to me. " she said. "We shall swear our vows before God, and surely he will hear, wherever we are."

I am ashamed to say it, but I felt a rush of joy at hearing her words so great it threatened to spill into tears. I had given her every opportunity to turn away from me, and yet she was still here. Surely it would be wrong of me to deny her, no matter how selfish I felt. She had taken control away from me, and it filled me with the most wonderful feeling of relief. I could do nothing more than nod my assent in dumb amazement.

It was enough for her. She launched herself at me with a look of pure euphoria on her face, and caught me about the neck with her arms. "Oh, Erik," she said into my ear. "I was so worried… When you sent me away, I was so hurt and confused! I didn't understand…and I longed to be back with you. I was chosen to be with you, as your wife, I know it. Oh, I was so afraid it was too late. But it's not!" She spoke in a breathless rush of words, like a desperate confession.

I stroked her hair with a free hand, in an attempt to calm myself as much as to calm her. "No, my dear," I whispered. "It's not too late." We clung to each another in silence as I rocked her to the rhythm of our breathing.

…

With a sigh, I forced myself to break apart from her. If we were to go through with this, we'd better not waste any more time, which I knew was exceedingly precious.

Detached from her calming, enthralling embrace, my head began to clear, and reality and practicality began to intrude in a most unpleasant way.

I'd once cherished secret dreams of a grand wedding, but now, though I finally had my bride, I had no church, no flowers, no music. There had been a beautiful wedding dress, bought on some masochistic impulse so long ago, but it was gone now. She'd left in it on the night I'd sent her away. No doubt the boy had burned it. And there was a veil... My eyes traveled over the ruins of the drawing room floor to where it lay in tatters, pinned under an upended chair. At least I still had the ring, nestled now in my pocket, very close to my heart.

She must have followed my gaze, for she stood at once and picked her way through the debris to retrieve the veil. Having freed it from the weight of the chair, she shook it out and assessed the damage. I'd fairly shredded it in my misery, but it remained more or less intact. She smoothed it out and placed it on her head with a small laugh. My heart swelled at the sound, but the sight of her in that ruined veil, looking like a poor caricature of a bride, made me feel inadequate, unworthy.

"I'm…sorry that I won't be able to give you the wedding you deserve, my darling…"

She shrugged her little shoulders. "If you are to be the groom, then you will be giving me the wedding that I want," she said with finality. "Now, come. Let us make our vows and become man and wife."

I managed to pull myself to a standing position, though not as gracefully as I would have liked. "I should like nothing else better," I replied. It was so tempting to play at being happy and carefree.

She crossed the room and took my hands in hers, but paused as a slight line of concern creased her brow. "I think," she said, "that we should have a witness. Don't you? Perhaps I should ask your friend…"

"Nadir…Nadir Khan," I supplied. Despite everything, my oldest and truest friend… "Yes, I think you're quite right, my dear. Let's see if he lingers outside the door, as I suspect he might." If I knew Nadir, he'd likely been listening with his ear pressed against the door.

She left my side and hurried over to the door to open it, leaning out to look around, but jumped back with a little cry, startled at finding him closer than expected. I chuckled to myself…so I was not mistaken after all! Recovering herself, she stepped outside, closing the door behind her. She returned some minutes later, with Nadir trailing behind, interrogating me with suspicious eyes.

I smiled back at him. "Oh, come, Daroga. I know what you must be thinking, but what exactly is it that you think that I could have done? There have been no threats or ultimatums, no magic tricks, hypnotism, or any other forms of enchantment. The lady has made her own decision. Isn't that right, Christine?"

She came to stand beside me, looking up at him with a challenging self-assurance. "Yes," she said. "It's my choice."

Nadir shook his head with a half-smile, deciding it was unwise to argue. "Very well then, would you like to…?" He made a questioning gesture.

Christine took my hand, and I suddenly felt like the room was closing in on me. It was all very well to imagine this moment, but there was an enormity to it I had not anticipated. The lightheartedness I'd felt moments earlier was crushed by a sobering gravity. Turning to look at Christine, I could tell she felt it, too. Tears were already welling in her eyes.

She lifted trembling hands up to my face and removed my mask, handing it absentmindedly to Nadir.

"Nadir Khan," she began, her voice strong with conviction despite her ready tears. "You will stand as a witness before God, as we take our marriage vows?"

He murmured his assent.

"When we are finished, we will be considered man and wife in the eyes of God, as well as man. Will you agree to uphold this?"

"Yes, I shall," he said.

And after that, he might have disappeared from the room entirely, for all I would have known, for Christine had taken my face between her lovely hands, and she did not cringe or avert her eyes.

No, she kissed me. Delicately and deliberately, starting on my forehead. She pressed small, perfect kisses onto every inch of my face. And when my tears began to fall, she kissed each eye, and kissed away each tear.

When she pulled away at last, she looked up at me, eyes wide and clear. "I, Christine, take thee, Erik, as my husband. I swear this before God. I swear to honor you, cherish you, and hold you, in sickness and in health…" Her voice faltered. "I promise to love you, forever."

I was so overcome with emotion once she had finished that I feared I would not be able to find my voice to speak. These would be the most important words I would ever say. "Christine," I began, finding strength in her eyes. "I do not deserve your love, yet you give it to me nevertheless. You have given me a gift which is more precious to me than you can possibly know. And in return, I give you all of my heart and my soul, which is poor repayment for my debt. Before God, I, Erik, swear to take you, Christine, to be my wife, to love and to cherish, until death do us part."

And then I kissed my bride.


	6. Chapter 6: A Little Revelry

_**Erik**_

I broke away from the kiss with great reluctance, brought back to reality by the sound of quiet sniffling. I turned with surprise to find Nadir dabbing at his eyes with a handkerchief.

He must have seen the smirk forming on my lips. "What?" he demanded with indignation. "There's merely quite a lot of dust down here. You're a rather terrible housekeeper, you know." He fixed me with a stern look that melted into a sheepish smile, and strode over to shake my hand. "Congratulations, old friend," he said gently, then turned to Christine and took her hand. "And to you, Mademois– …no, my apologies…Madame!"

When their soft, rather tired-sounding laughter died away, a weighty silence descended upon the room. Nadir cleared his throat and, looking awkward, began to excuse himself. An indistinct feeling of dread suddenly descended upon me, and panicking, I held him by his sleeve and begged him to endure our company for a little while longer, so that we might celebrate. The note of desperation in my voice astonished even me. I'd spent years trying to be rid of him, and _now_ I couldn't bear him to leave? Unable to put words to my fear, I decided that it must be another of my premonitions. Yes, another attack must imminent... It would be best to keep him close at hand.

Unable to refuse my impassioned invitation, Nadir stammered his assent, but looked around at Christine with confusion.

"Well," I said, "I admit that it's not much of a traditional wedding, but I don't see why we should deny ourselves a little revelry. If I remember correctly, I have a rather exceptional bottle of wine I'd been saving for a special occasion. Christine, why don't you go to the pantry and fetch it? With any luck there may even be some little cakes or other sweets that have not yet passed their prime."

As she left the room, I looked down at my hands to find that I was still clutching at Nadir's sleeve. Feeling foolish, I released him.

"Are you feeling unwell, Erik?" he asked, regarding me with a genuine concern that I couldn't help but find touching. "You've been up far too long…perhaps we should get you back to bed."

"No!" I all but cried, "No. That's not necessary. But I should like to sit down, I think. If you could just help me, we could right the sofa and a chair or two…" But he would not hear of me exerting myself, and instead huffed and puffed himself red-faced attempting to turn over the furniture, as I stood by lamely.

By the time Christine returned, he'd managed to set up the tattered sofa and a chair that now sat at an awkward angle on its broken legs. Now that the shock created by recent events was wearing off, I began to feel a creeping embarrassment over the state of my home. I'd wanted to erase my presence from the Earth, but all I'd managed to do was to create a rather inconvenient mess that I didn't even have the strength to clean up myself.

Christine poured the deep red wine into three mismatched glasses, passed around a tray of stale pastries, and helped me to the sofa. Feeling the need to do something with my hands, I tipped the glass to my lips and began to drink. Something was wrong… The glass felt strange against my lips. My mask! I wasn't wearing my mask! Of course I remembered Christine removing it, but I'd given it no thought since. Not one! For fifty years I'd clung to my mask fiercely, as if it really was magic, as if it really could keep away the monstrous face as my mother had told me. Without that one scrap of leather, I was exposed, vulnerable…a child shrinking against the bars of a cage, desperate to shut out the taunting, jeering voices. Yet I'd spent the last half an hour oblivious to its absence. And not once had Christine or Nadir's faces registered the disgust and fear I'd become accustomed to expect…

Tears began to flow down my bare cheeks. Crying again – it was beginning to become quite ridiculous!

Christine laid a soft hand on my arm. "Erik, dear, what's wrong?" Her brow creased with worry as she searched my face for some sign of ill health. I was sure that if I tried to speak, my tears would turn to mortifying weeping, and so I only shook my head in response. Her pretty little mouth pulled down into a frown, but her shoulders were set with resoluteness as she turned to address Nadir. "I think it's time for Erik to lie down. I can't thank you enough for all that you've done, but I'd like to ask, respectfully, that we have some time alone. You're free to go home for the evening."

My anxiety returned, this time not so formless. I was beginning to understand that it wasn't a premonition that made me want to keep Nadir from leaving.

"Christine, no," I said. "You have to go home, you know that. You can't possibly stay! What will happen if Raoul were to find you missing? I couldn't handle another…scene, like before. I could only bear it if you left freely, so that I might still make myself believe you'd come back again some day."

"Oh, Erik," she replied. "You really must be ill if you think for one second that I would leave you." She threw up her hands in exasperation. "I can hardly believe you…turning a bride out on her wedding night!"

I began to protest, but stopped short as I noticed Nadir shifting uncomfortably in his chair, eyes fixed upon his empty glass. "We will…discuss this later," I said coolly.

She shrugged. "There's really nothing to discuss, but if it will please you..." She rose and gave a little curtsy to Nadir. "I'm feeling very tired. If you'd excuse me, I'd like to prepare for bed."

Nadir placed a genteel kiss upon her hand. "I will come tomorrow, if you'd like."

"Yes, thank you. Sometime in the afternoon, if it's convenient for you." At his confirming nod she turned and quit the room without a backward glance. What stubbornness! There was turning out to be quite a downside to this newfound strength of hers!

Nadir read the astonishment on my face and chuckled to himself. "You'll be fine, my friend. I have no doubt she will take excellent care of you. Would you like to me to arm the torture chamber on my way out, in case Monsieur de Chagny should come calling?"

Though he meant to amuse me with his teasing, it had the opposite effect. I held my face in my hands and let out a pitiful moan. "Oh, Nadir… What do I _do_?"

He came to stand beside me and placed a fatherly hand upon my back. "Be happy," he said simply. "Time is precious…don't waste what little you have left trying to find some excuse to make yourself miserable. I should think you've had enough of misery. Now you have love…don't turn it away." His smile was wistful as he looked down at me. "It's time for me to go."

He had reached the door before I found my voice. "Daroga, if I should…not see you again… If I were to… You have my instructions?" I finished lamely.

He shook his head and laughed, but when he looked at me I saw that his eyes were shining with tears. "I'll see you tomorrow, Erik." He pushed open the door.

"Yes, yes, of course," I said in a rush, stopping him before he could leave. "But in any case, I'd like to say thank you for…for…" I spread my hands in a gesture which I hope would convey the enormity of the debt of gratitude I owed him. "Everything."

He bowed his head. "You're welcome, friend." And he was gone.

...

It was several minutes before I had built up enough energy, both physically and mentally, to make my way to the bedroom.

I hesitated at the door before tapping out an uncertain inquiry.

The door swung open under my fist, and Christine stood before me, dressed in nothing more than a thin cotton chemise. A lump of ice slid down into my belly. I took an unsteady step back, murmuring my apologies, not trusting myself to look up at her.

Without warning, Ayesha leapt out from somewhere behind her, startling the both of us. She scampered over to wind herself around my legs, purring in a way that sounded almost like a growl. She was no doubt angry at having been ignored for so long while I'd been out in the drawing room, but despite my coaxing, I hadn't been able to get her to follow me out. She'd refused to leave the bedroom ever since I'd ruined the rest of the house, as if it were an offense to her sensibilities.

Christine laughed, a sort of nervous titter, and bent to scratch her behind the ears. When she straightened up, her eyes were deadly serious. "Well, husband? Are you going to send me away, or may I be allowed to stay?"

"Christine…" I began, "It's not a question of what I will allow, as I'm sure you would no doubt inform me. But I'm old, and I'm unwell, and I worry that I will only disappoint you. And…most of all…I worry that you will live to regret all of this…" I took her hand in mine and stroked the golden ring with my thumb. "You've given me so much, I couldn't ask for anything more."

"You don't need to ask," she said, and pulled me into the room.


	7. Chapter 7: A Peculiar Feeling

We're getting into where the story earns its T rating, so be warned! There's nothing graphic, but there is some sexuality. If you don't know what happens on a wedding night, well, I don't want to be the one to teach you. So if that's the case, it'd be best for you to skip forward a couple chapters!

Thanks for reading!

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_**Christine**_

Erik walked into the room like a man approaching a hangman's scaffold. He seemed determined to look anywhere but at me. His hand trembled as I guided him toward the bed, and I felt quite sure that if I didn't have him by the hand, he would have bolted right out of the room. If my own nerves hadn't prevented it, I should have been rather insulted!

Oh, I was quite nervous myself. Despite my careful appearance of calmness and resolve, inwardly I was in a remarkable state of agitation. I felt as though my stomach was filled with writhing snakes…strangely, not as unpleasant a sensation as it sounds. I was beginning to feel almost giddy in my flustered state. As I'd prepared for bed, my head swam with a hundred little worries; more than I'd care to admit concerned Raoul. I'd feigned indifference when Erik mentioned his worry of Raoul coming after me, but I had to acknowledge that it was a very real possibility. In all honesty, I hadn't altogether thought this whole scheme through, as far as some of the practicalities were concerned. And if I should continue being honest…I did still feel love for Raoul, and couldn't bear the thought of causing him pain. But I couldn't think of that just now! Whatever may happen, one thing was for certain: Raoul may have a claim on some small part of my heart, but the chief of it belonged, and always would, to Erik.

It was a conclusion I'd arrived at long ago…but then the love that I'd felt was incomplete. Shamefully, though I would willingly let him lay claim to my heart, I would not grant him to do the same to my body. He'd as much as told me that my heart would be enough, and I believe he would have been happy with only that. But to be his wife in name alone…how cruel I would be to deny physical love to a man so clearly starved for it! I'd tried to run away from my confused feelings, but ultimately I had to confront them. And so I did. I'd finally jumped off the rocky cliff and into the waters below, and found I could swim after all. In fact, I found the waters so warm and so pleasing, that I was now like a willful child who would not come back to shore after being called again and again.

I don't mean to imply that after I first kissed him I saw only beauty in his face, for that certainly wasn't the case. His face appeared as grotesque as ever, but I'd lost the fear in beholding it. And, to be sure, my love did not exist only in spite of his face. His face was part of him, and I loved the whole of him…so much so that my affection extended to that which I would otherwise find repulsive, because it was _his_. In a strange way his distorted face had become so very dear to me that I felt I wouldn't trade it for another, were it possible!

It was onto this very face, now taut with uneasiness, that I trained my gaze as I turned around to face him. We stood beside the bed, neither of us wanting to be the first to sit. We had spent countless hours alone in each other's presence, but the now the space between us thrummed with an unfamiliar energy. Words seemed impossible.

I tugged at his gloves…slipped off one and then the other. His fingers were ice cold and bloodless. I gathered them up and held them to my breast, just above my heart. His eyes followed his hands, and then turned away sharply. A dull flush crept up his neck.

We had touched before only a handful of times, and never in such an intimate way. In my mind I recalled the numerous times that he had seemed to reach out to me, while I shrunk away, denying him. A fresh wave of remorse washed over me. I intended to prove to him that I was past such childish shrinking.

I dropped his hands; he pulled them back as if burned and began wringing them. My hurt must have shown on my face, for he dropped them to his sides self-consciously and instead started digging his fingers brutally into his thighs. "Oh, my dear, you must forgive me," he said, his voice strained and quavering, "but my…whole life…people have done all they could to avoid…touching me…and now this! I find myself quite…overwhelmed. I'm so sorry…so sorry…" He glanced up at me earnestly, beseechingly.

I choked back the lump that had formed in my throat. I realized again how little of his life I knew, and it pained me. I reached again for his hands, this time pressing them to my lips and against my cheeks. "Don't apologize," I said, keeping my voice soft and even. "Now you have a wife who loves you, and longs for you to touch her." I kissed his fingertips, and released his hands. He did not pull them away, though his breathing became labored. He stepped nearer to me, and trailed his fingers across my lips, along my jaw, and down my neck to rest upon my collarbone. He groaned - a soft, throaty sound - as he let his fingers glide lower, skimming the low neckline of my chemise.

It's hard to say which of us was trembling worse.

He took back his hands and pressed them into fists against his stomach, almost doubling over. He exhaled a long, slow, ragged breath. For an instant I thought he must be ill again, but then the action seemed to be familiar. All the same, I asked after him anxiously.

He shook his head, but did not look up. "No, no…I'm not ill, my love. Merely…overwhelmed, once again." After several more deep breaths, he seemed to gain control of himself, and straightened up in his usual graceful way, his expression betraying no sign of what had passed. "I think it best for me to lie down now, though, with your permission."

I murmured my consent, blushing furiously.

I helped him shrug off his coat, and draped it across a chair as he removed his shoes. It was a beautiful wool coat, and likely very expensive. There had never been a time when I had seen him dressed in anything but the most formal and handsome of clothes, always a perfect gentleman. The trait was an endearing one, and I smiled to myself.

I piled the feather pillows high against the headboard of the bed, and helped him settle among them so that he remained propped up. I felt his eyes on me as I made my way around the room, blowing out all the candles except for the one that remained beside the bed. Finally, left with no other task, I crept into bed beside him, unsure of how to proceed. This was one area where I knew we were equally matched in inexperience. I decided upon nestling up along his side, with my head resting on his shoulder, one hand on his chest. He sighed a deep sigh of contentment.

"Oh, Christine," he whispered. "I could die right now and be the happiest man there ever was."

His words caught me so off guard that I couldn't help but let out a disbelieving laugh. "Well! I would really rather you didn't, if it's all the same!" Despite my laughter, terror welled up in my stomach.

"No, I'd really rather I didn't, either. That certainly would put a damper on our wedding night, would it not?" He smiled down on me, but the smile didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Erik? I know you are very ill…" I didn't know how to finish my question.

"Yes, yes I am," he said with a sigh. "I won't lie to you. I can't imagine that I have more than a week left, if I should be so lucky."

I was crying again before I even realized it. Guilt was threatening to overcome me. "Oh, Erik… I'm so sorry I wasn't here earlier. We might have had more time together."

"Please don't blame yourself when it was I who sent you away," he said, wiping a tear away with his thumb. "No more tears on my account, please. 'Time is precious…' Let's enjoy what we have left together."

I buried my face against his shoulder until the tears stopped. My eyes felt puffy and my nose raw from all of the crying and sniffling I'd been doing in the last several hours. "I must look an awful mess," I said, my voice thick. He placed a finger under my chin and tilted up my face to his.

"You've never looked more beautiful," he said quietly. Though I doubted the truth of his words, I couldn't argue with the blazing look that was in his eyes. He pressed a hesitant but tender kiss against my lips, and I returned it with increasing depth. Absently, I began fingering the smooth buttons of his waistcoat, and then unbuttoned them, one by one, from top to bottom. Through the soft fabric of his shirt I could feel his thin chest heaving under my hand. Our kiss began to grow more desperate, and he sent a tentative hand to stroke the length of my arm.

I felt flushed with a peculiar feeling of power. It's not my intention to sound vain when I say that I was convinced that he desired me more than any man had ever desired a woman. It's simply the truth. He'd spent a lifetime believing that he was unworthy of love, and now I could give it, in the most intimate and meaningful of ways. This new sensation coursing through my veins drove away what remained of my apprehension, and with open arms I welcomed my husband, my love, my Angel into my embrace.


	8. Chapter 8: Summers by the Sea

_Thanks for all the great feedback, everyone. I'm getting ready to wrap this up. Just a couple more chapters after this!_

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_**Erik**_

For the first time in my life, I felt at peace. It was something I'd searched for the better part of fifty years. I'd sought it in music, in building and inventing, in restless travel; I'd tried to manufacture it with substances that could create the brief illusion; I'd attempted to force it into existence through solitude. And in each instance, there were times I believed I knew success. But now, wrapped in the arms of the one who loved me, I realized that I had never even come close.

Christine lay with her cheek pressed just over my heart, one languid arm draped across my stomach. Her flushed skin began to cool under my fingers as I traced the curve of her spine. With each stroke of my hand, a new wave of wonder washed over me. It seemed impossible that I should be lying in bed with this beautiful creature…my wife!...as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Were I to have many years' worth of nights to hold her in my arms, I doubt I would ever feel less astonished.

We held each other for hours, listening to the clock tick away the seconds, each lost in our own reflections. My mind could not help but stray back, to recollections that were both pleasurable and uncomfortable... "_Now you have a wife who loves you, and longs for you to touch her_"…I'd felt like I was in a waking dream! But years of suppressed desire and torturous self-loathing had threatened to undo me. Inevitable images of the pathetic, pleading harem girl had swum before my eyes, leaving me dizzy and gasping for breath. But dear Christine…she did not laugh or jeer, or leave in indignation. She consoled me! Shed tears for me! And when she lay beneath me, her eyes shone with patient adoration, despite my initial awkward fumbling and mumbled apologies. And then, when she bit back a cry of pain, she entreated me to continue when I would have lost my nerve… _begged_ me, whispering words of love. I poured a lifetime of need into her embrace, and in return she clung to me with desperate ferocity. Even in my guilty fantasies, she had only silently borne me until the moment when she could turn away in relief… I was not prepared for the sweet sounds of pleasure that welled up from her throat and flowed into my ear, or the glowing smile she bestowed upon me after I'd collapsed, exhausted but euphoric.

Exhaustion was overtaking me once more, and it became a monumental effort to keep my increasingly heavy lids from sliding shut. Drifting away on the rhythm of Christine's slow, steady breathing, I began to be sucked down into the shadowy waters of blissful unconsciousness. But as tempting as the warmth and darkness was, I thrashed my way back to the surface. The unsteady beating in my chest reminded me that I'd best not waste my time sleeping. I would have opportunity enough to rest before long. Until then, I wouldn't lose a moment that could be spent indulging in Christine's presence.

I pressed a kiss to the top of her head, luxuriating in the feel of her silken curls against my lips. She stirred, yawning and stretching her limbs in sensuous, feline movements, then turned, propping herself up on an elbow, her cheek resting upon one small hand. Her skin was luminous in the flickering candlelight, and I couldn't resist brushing my fingers against her velvety cheek. She smiled, a radiant smile that would have melted the heart of the most hardened of men. Her smile was artless, sweet, and pure…but there was a glint in her eye that I could not put a name to.

"Erik?" she whispered. "Do you remember how we used to spend the evenings...when you would tell me stories, as we sat before the fire?"

"Yes, of course," I said. "I'd hoped they might amuse you…might make you forget you were trapped by a madman, five floors beneath the opera."

She waved away my comment.

"I was…remembering one of the stories you told me. The one about the Nightingale and the Rose…" She looked down, blushing.

I might have blushed myself. I'd thought at the time that I might have overstepped some line by telling her that story, but I tried to convince myself that she was too innocent, too willfully ignorant to draw any parallels. Clearly I was wrong.

Feeling uncomfortable, I cleared my throat. "Yes, well, that was a very popular legend in Persia. There were others, too. Did I tell you of the—"

"In the story," she interrupted, "the nightingale and the white rose, they…create a red rose out of their love."

"That's right…"

"Well…do you think we might have created a…rose of our own?" The glint was back in her eye as she studied me for my reaction.

"Oh, Christine," I said with a sigh. "It's just a story."

Her brows drew together in indignation. "I know that! But don't pretend that you didn't see the similarities, _Nightingale_." She took in my guilty expression; her narrowed eyes relaxed, and her expression softened. "There can be truth within a fairytale. I hope there's truth in this one." She turned over and fixed her eyes on the ceiling with a faraway smile. "I'm almost sure of it. I can feel it…" she said, absently stroking her belly.

I was stricken, but tried to keep it from my face. The possibility had not even occurred to me! And while I found it highly unlikely, there was something in her innocent conviction that caused a lump to form in my suddenly dry throat.

"Well, I for one should hope not!" I said teasingly, hoping to distract her from my inner discomposure. "I would make a horrible father, don't you think? What kind of place is a cellar for a child?"

"Oh, we would have to move, of course," she said, wide-eyed but hiding a smirk. "We could get a little house out by the sea. Nothing too grand...just a cozy little cottage. With no neighbors for miles, so you could still play upon the organ at any hour you wish. That's all we'd need, don't you think? Although…." She paused, thoughtful. "We'd have to keep a flat in Paris, certainly, so we could still attend the opera as often as we like." Her eyes were lit up with mirth. "Think of it! Summers by the sea, winters in the city. And you could teach the children to sing and to play..."

"_Children_? So we're to have a whole brood now, I see!" It was delightful to play along with her daydream, but I couldn't completely ignore a sobering reality. "And what if they should inherit my looks, and not their beautiful mother's? What then? Wherever will we get enough masks for all of them?"

She grasped my hand and fixed me with such an earnest look that the half-false smile died on my lips. "Then I would love them as I would love any other. Could you doubt that? And there would be no masks, no masks for anyone. Do you remember what you told me before, that you could do anything if I were beside you as your wife? Even go to the Bois again, in the daylight, without your mask, as any other man might do?" I gave a mute nod of acknowledgement. "Oh, Erik… Let's go! As soon as you are able. I would be proud to walk there, with you by my side."

I pulled in a deep breath, struggling to keep fresh tears at bay. "Yes, dear. I would love nothing better." I couldn't be sure how much was daydream, and how much was misguided hope. Either way, I wouldn't argue.

But I knew my fairytale was at an end.


	9. Chapter 9: Last Wishes, Last Requests

_**Christine**_

I don't know that I'll ever forgive myself for falling asleep.

I'm not quite sure when it even happened. Hours slipped past as we spun tales of a fairytale future together, laughing one moment, crying the next. He promised to take me on a trip across Europe and Asia, as he had done in his youth, letting me see with my own eyes the architectural wonders of the world which he'd once described to me in rich detail. I promised to keep him supplied with fresh cups of tea during long nights spent composing. We took turns naming our many children, starting with proper, respectable names, followed by a rapid descent into the ridiculous. As the candle died, we sang together, softly, softly, the old folk songs of my childhood, and of his. It must have been then that I slipped away.

Waking with a chill, I moved to huddle closer to him, but found myself alone. I groped blindly around the bed; there was no trace of warmth left where he'd been. I rubbed my bleary eyes and tried to make sense of the shapes in the dark. To my left there was a dim band of light outlining what I realized was the door to the adjacent bathroom. I thought I could hear the sound of running water, as if from the tap, but couldn't be sure. Long moments passed, and I heard no other sound. Half-convinced I was overreacting, but terrified I should be wrong, I tiptoed across the frigid floor. Hesitating at the threshold, I called out his name, stuttering horribly. I received no reply. I placed a hand against the door. It swung open before me. For a moment my vision went dark as the blood all rushed from my head, and I had to brace myself against the door frame as my knees buckled. Erik was crumpled upon the floor of the pink marble bathroom, his limbs splayed out at unnatural angles. I collapsed upon him at once, unthinking, my body already heaving with sobs.

I sought out his face and grasped it between my hands, expecting the worst. But though his skin was cool and clammy, I somehow sensed he was not gone. Not daring to hope, I pressed a hand to his chest. There was a heartbeat, though weak, and I could feel him struggle to pull in a breath. Relief flooded through me, replaced almost immediately with dread. He was alive, but only just.

My first impulse was to find help. Looking at Erik's frail body sprawled across the floor, I'd never felt more helpless, more useless. If only Nadir were here! But in the darkness of the cellars, time loses meaning; there is no day or night, and I found I had no idea what time it was. For all I knew, he wouldn't be here for hours! Fighting an urge to panic, I struggled to collect my thoughts. I was a grown woman, a wife, and I could handle this on my own. He deserved my strength, and I would find it in myself, somehow. I stroked his hollow cheek as I considered my options, and had just decided that the first order of business was to return him to bed when I felt him stir. Shocked, I almost dropped his head against the marble floor. He coughed once, grimaced, and his eyes fluttered open, focusing on me with a surprising clarity.

"Christine, dear, I seem to have left the water running. Would you be so kind as to turn it off? I would do it myself, of course, but I don't think I can stand with you gripping me like that."

"Oh, God!" I choked out, clutching him even tighter against me. "Let it run! I thought… Oh, Erik. I thought…"

"Yes, I rather thought the same. But, happily, it appears we were both wrong. I feel quite fine now." He rolled onto one side, and wincing, sat up. "Now, shall we back to bed? There's a dreadful draft down here." His easy speech and unconcerned expression had me bewildered, and I unquestioningly rose to my feet and extended a hand. He pulled himself up in one shaky but undeniably graceful movement. He raised a hand and gestured for me to lead the way, turning off the running tap behind him with the other.

As I plodded towards the bedroom, my mind in disarray, I glanced over my shoulder and saw him hunched over, hugging his arms to his chest, eyes squeezed tight. My mind cleared, and I was left with no doubt that his confident manner was for my benefit alone. I darted to his side, silencing him with a meaningful look before he could finish his protest, and placed a supporting arm around him.

Our journey to the bed was painstaking, punctuated with gasps and groans of pain and frequent stops to rest, but at long last we made it. Once I'd helped him settle into bed, I sat down on the edge and searched his face with questioning eyes.

"It's serious this time." It wasn't a question – I would not give him opportunity to lie for my sake. He nodded, but would not meet my eyes. My heart felt like a lump of lead in my chest. "You're in pain… Is there something I can give you? What about…what about morphine…?"

His eyes flashed as they met mine. "No!" he almost shouted. "No. It may ease my pain, but it would also…take me away from you. No amount of pain is worth missing even a minute with you." He took my hand in his and pressed the palm to his lips. "Now, where were we…? Ah! That's right, we were deciding which color roses to plant in the front yard. As I recall, you were quite firm on pink, but I was saying that I find red to be more classically beautiful."

I laughed despite myself, and wiped the tears from my eyes with a sigh. "Well, I thought pink would go better with the lavender that's to line the walkway." And with that, I crawled back into bed with him, and we resumed our game of make believe.

. . .

We spent a few more precious hours describing our home, our family, our future. He told me of an opera he'd been planning to write for me, humming bars of heavenly music now and again, and we wept together as we imagined my voice and his music combining to form something otherworldly. When he was finished, he fixed me with a serious look, and the illusions we'd built up shimmered away.

"When I'm gone, I want you to go back to him." His expression was resigned, placid.

"Go where? You're not going anywhere…I'm not going anywhere." I wouldn't let him ruin our happy delusions. "I really don't know what you're talking about!"

He pulled in a ragged breath. "Christine, I'm being very serious now. I need to know that you won't be alone when I'm gone. I need you to set my mind at ease."

Stricken, I shook my head. "No…please. I don't… He won't… How can you think he would still have me?"

He smiled – a sad, knowing smile. "Oh, sweet girl, of course he will. If he loves you half as much as I do, he will forgive. Now, will you promise? Or will you deny a dying man his last wish?"

And so I promised him, although inwardly I remained unconvinced that Raoul would accept me once he knew the truth. Poor, sweet Raoul. Even if he did accept me, he deserved someone that could love him with their whole heart. How unfair to him that he should have to share mine with the man he hated! And if my hope, my suspicion was right, would he raise that man's child? No, I'd made my choice, and I did not regret it. By now Raoul had probably discovered I'd run off, and vowed to have nothing more to do with me. It's what would be best.

"Actually, I do have one other request," Erik said, startling me out of deep contemplation.

"Anything."

"Ayesha… Will you take care of her for me?" he asked, gesturing to where she lay curled up in one corner of the room, doing her best to ignore us. "I'd thought of asking Nadir, but he doesn't get on well with cats. And then there's the fact that she downright hates him."

"Of course I will," I said, with a tired laugh. "But I do wish you'd stop this talk of last wishes, last requests! It's really not necessary!"

"Oh, but I have one more," he said with a shy, uncertain smile. "A simple one…a kiss."

Even now he looked like a timid child, ready to be rejected. After all that had passed between us, I couldn't understand it, but was determined to do all in my power to reassure. I brushed my lips against his, caressing, entreating, inviting. He responded with trembling intensity, and our lips crushed against each other's, desperate and yearning. My heart throbbed as I kissed him again and again, unwilling to let it end. Unwilling to admit it was a goodbye.

At last we released each other, breathless and drained. There was so much in my heart that I wanted to say to him, but the only words that would come to my lips were, "I love you."

He smiled, and this time there was no uncertainty. "And I love you." He looked away, his eyes glassy with tears. "And…thank you. Thank you for coming back…for giving me happiness like I've never known…for everything."

I wept openly, unable to hold back my tears any longer. Grief was overwhelming me, and I clung to him like a stubborn child, choking out sobs.

"Shh…Christine," he whispered, smoothing my hair with one hand. "Don't cry, my darling. The carriage will be here soon to take us to the Bois. Won't that be nice?"

"Erik, please…" I couldn't play along, not now.

"Hush, dear. You promised. You promised you'd go walking with me, in the day, by my side…as my wife."

"Yes…as your wife. And without your mask." My tears still flowed, but silently.

"Without my mask," he agreed. "With my wife…by my side."

We fell silent, and I spent long minutes listening to his labored breathing, tensing when it faltered, relaxing as it seemed to become deep and steady. It appeared he'd fallen asleep.

"Christine?" he breathed, startling me. "The Bois…it's beautiful in the daylight…" His words came in a halting, trance-like whisper. "And…I can feel the sun on my face…it's wonderful...so bright and so warm.... And you're here…by my side."

"Yes, I'm here. I'll always be here," I replied, squeezing his hand in both of mine.

And then he spoke no more. He slipped into a sleep so deep that I could not rouse him, and all there was left to do was to wait.


	10. Chapter 10: In Your Arms I Wished to Die

_Alright, this is the last proper chapter. There will be a short epilogue of sorts to follow sometime next week, but otherwise, this is it! It's exciting to be (almost) done...I'm really looking forward to working on some new, less gloomy, stories. Thank you to everyone who's been reading along!_

_FYI - Just so you know, I didn't keep Erik hanging on just to torture him (or you). I've based this somewhat off my own experience with losing those who are terminally ill, and I also wanted to give Christine a chance to sort through her emotions, to get her to the place where she emerges at the end, serene and peaceful and all that. Hopefully I didn't overdo it!_

* * *

_**Christine**_

I shed no tears when Erik died.

The hours leading up the dreaded event, however, were an entirely different matter.

I'd kept vigil over Erik's motionless form as the hours passed, my feverish mind laboring harder and harder to convince myself that he would wake, eventually. I tried telling myself that it was good that he was sleeping so deeply, that he needed the rest to recover, that I should let him be. But even if I could make myself believe that, I couldn't stand the waiting, the not knowing, and so I called him, attempting to lure him back to consciousness with sweet words that grew into increasingly desperate pleas. He gave no response, showed no sign of life. His pallid, slack face, already so cadaverous in appearance, did nothing to put my mind at ease.

I lay my head upon his chest. He was still alive… for though they were shallow and uneven, he still drew breath…and though it fluttered and thudded in a stuttering rhythm, his heart still beat … but I knew he wasn't there, not really. He was gone.

He was gone and it wasn't fair! It was too soon! I smothered my heaving sobs with a pillow, letting the anguish which had been simmering away for so long finally bubble over and spew forth into a guttural shriek. I thrashed about, kicking my feet and pounding my fists, a child throwing a tantrum. I grabbed his shoulders, gouging my fingers into his tepid flesh, and shook him violently, _demanding_ that he come back. _Insisting_ that he not leave me. It was too soon, _too soon_!

My hysterics were interrupted by the alarm.

"Ah, Madame, I know I'm early—" Nadir stopped short as I opened the door and he caught sight of my disheveled appearance and raw, tear-streaked face. His hand flew up to his heart. "Oh my… Is he…?"

I shook my head. "He's sleeping. But he won't…"- my voice cracked and faltered - "…wake up!" I buried my face in my hands and dissolved into messy tears.

Without another word, Nadir strode to the room and bent over Erik, prodding and examining with a detached, clinical air. He glanced up at me. "How long has he been like this?"

"Oh…I…" I looked around for the clock, as if that could somehow anchor me back to reality, but it must have wound down. It sat, frozen, on the wall, its pendulum hanging lifelessly. "It's been hours, I think…"

He resumed his silent inspection. When he straightened, it was with a suppressed expression of condolence that made my stomach lurch. "I'm sorry…." he said, with a gesture meant to indicate that the matter was out of both of our hands.

I shook my head numbly. I wasn't willing let him go so easily. "What can I do? There must be something I can do?"

He looked at me with pitying eyes. "Just be with him. I have no doubt he knows you are here. There would be no greater comfort for him than to have you by his side." He hesitated, considering his words. "Madame…sometimes the dying…linger, when they feel that their loved ones are…unable to make their peace."

"I'm not ready for him to go..." I admitted. I stared down at the lifeless figure upon the bed, unable to meet Nadir's eyes.

"We never are. No matter how much time we have with the ones we love, it will never be enough. But we carry them in our hearts, and know that one day we will be reunited." I looked up at him. His eyes were misted, faraway, but his face was set into lines of conviction. "You are not saying goodbye forever. Only…for now."

It was ages before I could find my voice, and when I did it was a rough and unlovely croak. "Will you stay?"

"As long I'm needed. I will take care of…everything. Erik gave me instructions on what to do with his body…" he trailed off at the sight of my distress. He shifted uncomfortably. "I will…ah…wait in another room…" He looked down at Erik once more and bowed his head in a gesture of respect, a wordless farewell. As he strode from the room he stopped, abruptly, and rifled through an inside pocket of his coat. He turned and placed a plain white envelope into my outstretched hands. My name was written on the back in Erik's distinctive scrawl.

"Erik had asked that I give this to you, once he was gone. I don't know what it contains, but perhaps you will find some comfort from it." With that he left, closing the door behind him, and leaving me clutching the envelope to my breast.

…

I could not bring myself to open it. To open it would be to give up, to admit that any words contained inside would be the only ones I would ever hear from him again. And what did Nadir know, anyway? Erik had recovered unexpectedly before; maybe he might do so again. All I wanted was just one more day…one more hour… No, I would not open that letter, would not give up hope! Instead, exhausted, I cried myself to sleep on Erik's shoulder.

I found myself in my old dream, familiar, yet altered…

_I was drifting in the dark, still water, in the shadow of the massive cliff that I'd looked down from so many times. I'd been certain that if I'd only take the plunge I would be rewarded with a mermaid's tail by Neptune himself, but though I must have jumped, I found myself utterly alone with only flailing human limbs…limbs that were becoming heavy in the numbing, icy sea. With mounting panic, I remembered that I couldn't swim! I clawed frantically at the sheer, rocky face of the cliff, searching for some little hand- or foothold, but it was if it were made of glass. Defeated, I saw no choice but to give up, and with detached calm I could feel myself slipping, dropping, sinking soundlessly into the bottomless void that waited beneath me. As the water closed in over my head, a voice was in my ear -- "Swim!" it said. "I can't, I can't!" I cried, choking on great mouthfuls of salty water. But the voice was insistent. "You can – you must!" it said. And without understanding how, I obeyed, and all at once I was swimming, rising toward the light, surfacing with a painful gasp, and gazing in wonder at the glittering surface of the water which reflected the brilliant sun above me._

I was shocked into consciousness by the alarm, and I floundered for a moment, still gasping for breath.

I struggled to throw off the fog of sleep from my mind, uncomprehending. Who could have triggered the alarm? As far as I knew, Nadir and I were the only ones who knew the secret of the little house on the lake. Nadir and I and…

Raoul. His name came to me just seconds before I heard his voice ring out in the next room.

In a blinding, sickening panic, I clung to Erik's comatose form, bracing myself against the inevitable intrusion. My knight had come to rescue me from the monster once more, only he had it wrong…now it was I who was the monster. I, who'd abandoned and betrayed him and, worst of all, did not feel the least bit of remorse.

There were footsteps approaching the door, and voices…Raoul was exchanging words with Nadir. I buried my face against Erik's chest, not daring to breathe, as the muffled voices began to escalate. But miraculously, the footsteps shuffled away, and the voices, now hushed and barely audible, recommenced a safe distance off. Soon, the voices died away, and then there was nothing but silence.

Giddy relief washed over me, and I shocked myself with a sudden burst of laughter. I clapped a hand over my mouth in horror, attempting to stifle my uncontrollable giggling. Oh, it wasn't funny, not really, I know…but the absurdity of the situation! My fiancé waiting patiently in the other room, while I lay in bed with my dying husband! But was that right? Was Raoul actually waiting for me? Surely he must have some idea of what had happened, and yet there was no slamming door, no angry shouting… He couldn't possibly…

"_Oh, sweet girl, of course he will. If he loves you half as much as I do, he will forgive."_

My laughter had turned to hot tears, leaking steadily from burning, stinging eyes. I sighed, wiping them with the back of my hand. "Oh Erik, you were right…" I whispered. I stroked his face; he looked so peaceful…such a stark contrast to the tormented feelings that were twisting my insides into excruciating knots. "I know I promised, but I can't do it. Am I supposed to just let you go, then simply leave and resume my life, like none of this ever happened?" I shook my head sadly. "It wasn't supposed to happen like this. We were supposed to have more time together. I'm not ready to say goodbye… How could I ever be ready?"

I was becoming uncomfortably aware that it was vital that I find the answer to that question. If, as Nadir implied, Erik somehow clung to life because I could not let him go, then it was terribly selfish of me. Earlier, as I'd cradled him on the bathroom floor, I'd resolved to give him my strength, but now, at his final hour, all I could muster was self-pity. It was so tempting to sink into my misery, to let it consume me, so that I wouldn't have to feel anything but blissful numbness. It was so tempting…but I would be strong.

I took up the letter from the bedside table, and ran my fingers over the smooth paper of the envelope, tracing the letters of my name, feeling the grooves left by Erik's pen. I broke the seal and extracted a folded sheet of ivory paper. Though I was burning to open it straightaway and greedily drink in what he'd written in, I closed my eyes, restraining myself, determined to savor every word.

But when at last I'd carefully unfolded the sheet, smoothed it out upon my lap and opened my eyes to read, I saw that it was blank but for three small words scrawled in smudged black ink, right in the center.

"_Please forgive me." _

I stared at the words until they began to blur. I stared until the words became distorted, the ink running from each letter in little rivulets as a rain of tear drops fell upon them. I stared until the words were a hollow echo in my ears, in my mind, in my heart.

With numb hands I folded the paper again and reached for the envelope. When I picked it up, a little scrap of paper fluttered out and onto the bedspread. It was a few lines of music, part of a score...

"_My heart foreseeing your condemnation, into this tomb I made my way by stealth, and here, far from every human gaze, in your arms I wished to die…"_

I clasped the lines against my heart, waiting for the fresh torrent of tears…but they never came. I felt strangely calm. The letter had said next to nothing, and yet, somehow told me everything I needed to hear.

I curled up alongside Erik, cupping his face in my hand. I pressed my lips to his ear, whispering words of love, of forgiveness, of release. Then I just held him. And waited.

…

As I said, when Erik finally died, I shed no tears. That's what he would have wanted.

I dressed, slowly and methodically, the simple ritual bringing me further back into reality with each familiar step. When I was finished, I wound the clock upon the wall, setting it against my own watch.

I kept the lines from Aida, tucked into an inner pocket of my skirt, but the letter I burnt. I took it into the bathroom and held it over a candle until it flamed, then dropped it in the marble sink and watched it crumble into ash.

And finally, before I gathered Ayesha up in my arms and, for the last time, walked out of my room in the little house buried five floors beneath the Opera, I kneeled beside Erik, kissed his hands, his face, and whispered "Goodbye…for now."


	11. Epilogue: A Perfect Life

_Alright, I'm finally done! This took me forever to finish up because I knew that I didn't really need an epilogue, but at the same time, I wasn't quite ready to let it go... The biggest of all possible THANK YOUs to everyone who's been reading along. I've cherished every review and every message. Thanks for keeping me going!_

* * *

_**Christine 1897**_

It's been seventeen years since I lay with Erik upon his death bed, and now I lie alone, upon mine.

While Raoul sits in silent vigil in the hard, high-backed chair at the foot of my bed, nurses come shuffling in on soft-soled shoes and ply me with bitter medicines to ease my pain and help me to sleep. It's becoming harder and harder to tell the difference between sleeping and waking, just as it was in those final weeks of my lying-in, when I spent each day in a chloral-induced stupor. Then, I struggled against my failing body, driven by the heart that beat within my belly, in time with my own. Now I am so very tired...

"What a shame… So young, such a perfect life to be leaving behind," I hear the nurses whisper when they think I'm asleep. It's true. Many have compared my life to a fairytale – an orphaned chorus girl whisked off the stage by a handsome young nobleman and deposited in a beautiful manor home, where her kind, loving husband provides her with everything she could desire, including a flawless, angelic son. But the real fairytale of my life is of a very different kind. It's the fairytale I heard all those years ago, in the cellars of the opera. A story of a love that was not meant to be, and the rare flower that it engendered – my Charles.

I had insisted on delaying our wedding, giving Raoul time to be sure that he still wanted me, and time for me to be sure of the paternity of any child. My conscience berated me for wishing that I was with Erik's child – hadn't I hurt Raoul enough? – but in my heart I couldn't help but wish for that one piece of our imagined future to become a reality. When a month had passed and I'd become reasonably sure that it had, I was filled with such an overwhelming mix of terror and joy that all the promises I'd made to myself to sit down and tell Raoul the truth of everything suddenly seemed quite impossible. I convinced myself that it might be best to wait…

And so for seventeen years Raoul and I have never spoken a word about any of it. Not about the final night I spent by Erik's side, or about the unlikely timing of Charles' birth. Nor did he ever question why I burst into hysterical tears when one year he suggested taking a summer house by the sea. I tell myself that it is unspoken knowledge between us, and while that may be true, the real truth is that I have been too selfish and too cowardly, too afraid to topple our carefully constructed life.

I know that I should feel terrible guilt over the secret I've kept, the lie that I've allowed my family to live…but I don't. Because in Raoul's eyes, though I've seen flashes of pain, of disappointment, and bitter knowledge, what I've more often seen is pride and love. And in Charles there is nothing but unquestioning adoration of his father. I tell myself it would be nothing but cruel to shatter that, and so I'll go to my grave never revealing my secret to another living soul…save for one.

I'm not sure what came over me the day I sent the letter. It was just after Charles' first piano recital, where he'd played with such precocious beauty and feeling – not to mention perfection – that I wept the entire evening after I'd put him to bed. A small article appeared in the local newspaper making mention of the apparent prodigy who'd stood out among the much older performers, and I clipped it out with my sewing shears. Into an envelope I placed the cutting along with a miniature portrait and a carefully worded letter, and sent it off to M. Nadir Kahn (care of the Paris Opera, where I knew he'd been a frequent attendant), uncertain if it would ever reach its recipient. Several weeks later, I received a reply written in a strange hand. With my heart in my throat, I locked myself in my bathroom as I read the courteous but otherwise impersonal letter, which concluded with the following lines: "_Madame, my heart is gladdened to hear that you've been blessed with such a son. Certainly he is a credit to his mother and to his father, who is no doubt very proud of him._"

It was so tempting to save those lines as a written representation of the truth and conviction I carried in my heart, but I burned them as I burned Erik's letter so long ago. Only the line from Aida remains locked in my beside table, along with sixteen years worth of red and white roses, a magnificent diamond necklace made of jewels that once belonged to a cat, and a small, plain gold ring that rested upon my finger for hardly more than twenty four hours, but which rests upon my heart and mind every day of my life.

Raoul is dozing in his uncomfortable chair, his head nodding with each deep exhalation. He looks so peaceful, and my heart swells with love for him. I am not worthy of the love and goodness he has given me, and my one regret is that I could never love him back as well as he deserved. I can only hope he understands.

It's the middle of the night, and his head jerks up, startled by my sudden labored breathing. He slides his chair to the head of my bed and takes my freezing hand in his. I can't be sure, because his words sound so far away, but I think I hear him whisper words of love, of forgiveness, of release… And from somewhere in the distance, I can hear an unmistakable voice singing a song from my childhood, a song I haven't heard since the night that I spent wrapped in the embrace of my Angel of Music.


End file.
